Fit
by websandwhiskers
Summary: Liz is still uneasy with the idea of having children, Nuala’s still uneasy with the idea of having her own brain, and neither one of them knows quite what to do with the other. This about a month or so post “Surfacing” - see warnings inside.


**Characters/Pairings: **Nuala, Liz; reference to Abe/Nuala and Hellboy/Liz

**Disclaimer: **Hellboy 2: The Golden Army and all its associated characters and concepts belong to a whole bunch of people who aren't me, including but not limited to Guillermo del Toro, who is pretty much God. I'm making no profit and intend no disrespect, so please don't sue me.

**Summary: **Liz is still uneasy with the idea of having children, Nuala's still uneasy with the idea of having her own brain, and neither one of them quite knows what to do with the other. This about a month or so post "Surfacing" and "The End of the Beginning."

**Author's Notes/Warnings: **Nuala's doing some dealing – and some not dealing – with the after-affects of her less-than-healthy relationship with her brother, here. I'm hoping for psychological realism but I can't promise I've achieved it, so YMMV in terms of the degree to which this has literary merit. If reference to past abuse is going to be a traumatic thing for you to read, I suggest skipping this one.

I'm not marking this completed only because I might - maybe – write a continuation of this. Way back months ago when my head was overflowing with fic ideas, I actually had a story in mind that involved Liz and Nuala at the mall, at a maternity clothing store. I then decided it was pathetic and unacceptable that the only thing I could imagine the movie's only two female characters doing together was _shopping. _But . . now it has context and doesn't seem quite so anti-feminist, so I may write it after all.

* * *

"What the hell am I doing, Abe?"

Nuala came to a stop in doorway to Abraham's home; Elizabeth Sherman was there on the little landing just inside, sitting with her back to the corner and her knees tucked up to her chest. She'd obviously spoken without looking, glancing up only at the lack of a response as Nuala floundered for something useful to say. The door shut behind her with a heavy clang.

The other woman's eyes were red. The air was unusually warm, hazy, full of swirling steam and smoke and the scent of ozone – as if something had been burning. There were scorch marks on the walls around her.

"Oh," Liz blurted out, flinched, and sparked, the hands she had wrapped white-knuckled around her knees bursting into tongues of flame, orange at the tips where they lapped at the air, blue where they curled around fingers. They raced up her neck, down her legs, curled through her hair – and then sank back into her skin as Liz squeezed her eyes shut hard, grimaced, and ducked her head. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

Nuala just stared, feeling something rushing up her own spine: fear and awe and – so ridiculous, and yet undeniable – embarrassment. She'd intruded. She shouldn't be seeing this.

"Abe's not here," Liz said to her knees, voice thick, then blinked up at Nuala as if only just then actually processing who she was – beyond the fact that she was, obviously, not the person Liz expected or wanted to see. She began to push herself to her feet, clumsy and awkward with haste. "You can wait for him, I'll just -" She wiped her nose on the back of her hand, avoiding Nuala's eyes. "I'm gonna go, sorry, I kinda pushed the chair into the water so I wouldn't melt it so I guess it's down there somewhere and -" she gestured at the water "- I forgot he's got all those plants now so I hope I didn't -"

"You don't have to go," Nuala interrupted anxiously.

Liz blinked up at her, folding her arms defensively across her chest. Her shoulders were hunched. "I'm not going to be good company," she said simply.

"I don't need company," Nuala insisted – she did _want_ company, badly, but Abraham's company, and well, it seemed he wasn't here. "But you don't have to go."

"Abe'd be pissed if I cremated you by accident," Liz pressed.

"That's good to know," Nuala replied, smiling uncertainly.

Liz smiled back, wan and lopsided. She sniffled, then grimaced again, and sat back down. "They're late," Liz supplied flatly, drawing her knees back up, curling around the slight swell of her belly.

"Abraham tells me your work is often unpredictable," Nuala offered, making her way carefully further into the room and, when the other woman didn't appear to object – didn't ignite – settling down to the floor beside her.

Liz snorted. "Yeah. Unpredictable." Then she glanced sideways at Nuala. "Abe's tougher than he looks," she offered in stilted reassurance.

"He's shown me some things," Nuala replied, and at the sharpening of the other woman's look, hurried to add, "Very little – inconsequential things." But then she paused, considering, weighing the shrewdness of Liz's expression against the tear-tracks on her cheeks and the knowledge that this was Abraham's dearest friend, very nearly his sister. How much would he wish for her to say?

He would not, she knew, wish for her to consider the situation in those terms – his secrets, his friendships, his wishes. He would want for her to do as _she _felt was right.

What she felt was a sudden spurt of fierce and irrational resentment at that – must she feel her way blind through every minute of every hour of every day? Wasn't it enough that she had to learn her people's needs, to measure out authority and compassion in the proper portion to produce obedience and peace, and to say the right things to the human press, and the human government - was it not enough that she spent every waking moment reassuring the Council of her very wakefulness, that they spoke to _her, _not her brother, not the shade of her father, not some puppet dancing on human strings? Was it not _enough? _Couldn't she _rest, _just a little, just sometimes?

Just sometimes – just crawl back into the dark corner of her mind where she'd lived for so long, and let him pull her to and fro – she trusted his judgment, knew Abraham would be careful with her. He would never – never try to make her go away_. _But if she could just rest –

Liz was still watching her.

"I cannot help but see some things I likely shouldn't," Nuala said softly, levelly, letting the anger be swallowed up in shame that she could even think such a thing. Of course Abraham wouldn't want that – Abraham was sane and for the most part well. It wasn't his fault that she was otherwise – that it was so hard, so _hard, _just to _be. _All the time.

"I kinda figured," Liz replied.

"You wanted to know if I would admit it," Nuala guessed.

Liz shrugged, sniffled, and pressed the heels of her hands hard into both eyes. "No offense," she muttered. "I'm not really good at trusting people." She gave a bitter, snorting sort of laugh. "Reason number four hundred and fifty-two why I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, here."

Nuala turned her head and frowned in puzzlement; Liz's profile was obscured by her hair, letting Nuala see only the tense set of her fingertips, curling around her forehead. Little flickers seemed to dance just under the skin, like burning coals, showing bright through the whorls and creases of her skin. It was fascinating.

"Sorry," Liz mumbled again.

"Why?" Nuala asked, genuinely confused.

"'Cause I said fuck?" Liz said, lifting her head and staring out over the water. "Also 'cause I'm spilling my guts here and this is really not your problem."

"Human profanity is . . puzzling," Nuala replied. So was the phrase 'spilling my guts' – for something crass and vile they referred to copulation, and to engage in intimate conversation might be metaphorically compared to being sick. It wasn't puzzling, really – it was disturbing. It made her uneasy to think of this as Abraham's language, his culture. She . . didn't like it.

He would be so pleased, she thought sourly – she disliked something about him. No, not about him – not exactly. She wondered if that counted. She wondered if any of it counted if she measured her success in independent thought entirely in terms of the degree to which he'd be pleased.

The anger was back; she had the random, childish thought that it would be rather pleasant to be able to burst into flames. Flame struck her as quite unequivocal. She smoothed her hands over her skirts; they shook, and the fabric made a silken puddle of green on the floor.

Was it progress or its opposite that she was beginning to comprehend her brother's all-encompassing rage, his hatred? She was beginning to hate Nuada, and in hating him, to love him better, because she could understand him more.

Liz was quiet; Nuala decided to follow her example. She watched the water. It was so very still; Nuala loved this place for being Abraham's, but also for its own sake.

Water was easy to love; it asked for nothing and made no apologies for the fact that it might swallow and drown you.

"You were visiting your brother?"

Nuala flinched. Was it so obvious? She needed Abraham – needed not to return to her court like this. "Yes."

"Ah."

Nuala glanced to her side; Liz had folded her arms across her knees and laid her head down on her wrists, facing Nuala, watching. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders and a slight quirk of her lips. "You do what you have to, right?" Liz offered. "Doesn't have to make sense to anybody else."

"I -" Nuala began, frowning, caught off guard.

"Not my business," Liz said, turning away, lifting her head to settle her pointed chin on her arms – looking out at the water again. "Unless you want it to be. I don't mean to shut you up or anything."

"Thank you," Nuala said, very uncertainly.

"Hey, you're putting up with the whole spark-and-snark freak show, here," Liz replied with another shrug. "And Abe's family. That makes you family too."

Nuala could think of nothing to say to that.

"Geez, I'm a moron," Liz said after a moment. "You really don't want more family, do you?"

"Why were you crying?" Nuala asked, rather than respond – she had no answer.

"Because I'm going to be a shitty mother," Liz said flatly.

"I'm sure -"

"Don't," Liz snapped. "Just – that was rude, sorry, but – that, all that nice and reassuring and means nothing stuff? That gets me mad, okay? And I'm a brat, but I need to not get mad, not when I'm already upset. It's not safe."

"Oh," Nuala said, taken aback. "Of-of course."

"The offer for me to go away stands," Liz volunteered.

Nuala flinched again, hard; memory raced like ice through her veins, freezing her, making her still, quiet, invisible, _I could make you go away – _

"What?" Liz asked, lifting her head and frowning in concern. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Nuala managed, slowly and deliberately. "Nothing is wrong." Inhale, exhale, and it's alright to speak. "All is well."

Liz looked spectacularly unconvinced. Nuala inhaled deeply, exhaled with a shaky sigh.

Liz just watched her, clearly waiting for an explanation.

"I afraid I'm going to be a terrible queen," Nuala volunteered. "And my people will suffer for it."

Liz blinked, paused, tilted her head.

"What if the babies aren't fireproof?" Liz asked.

"What if your government decides to just obliterate us, rather than negotiate?" Nuala countered. "What if my brother was right about you?"

"Hey – your brother was not right about us," Liz retorted.

"Yes, he was," Nuala said. It felt strangely good to say it out loud; yes, Nuada had been right about humanity, in many ways. Not in everything, but in many ways.

More anger – he had chose the easier path, hadn't he? So easy, to face an enemy and kill or die – it was much, much harder to try to live.

"It doesn't mean you deserve to be annihilated, scoured from the earth," Nuala went on, quiet, surprised at the steadiness of her own voice, "but neither do we."

"My babies don't deserve to be born freaks. They don't deserve a mother who might kill them by accident."

It was quiet a long moment.

"We are so pathetic," Liz blurted out. "This is so pathetic. We should go get coffee or something." She scowled. "I'll get decaf."

"I'd . . . like that," Nuala agreed slowly, surprised, but pleased.

"And I need to go buy maternity jeans," Liz sighed. "That's what -"

She made a terse gesture at herself; Nuala found herself smiling, just a little. It reminded her of Abraham; she wondered who had formed the habit first. She suspected him; he spoke with his hands far more.

" – what set me off," Liz concluded. "I couldn't button my pants. Made it real."

"Perhaps a loose-fitting dress -"

Liz gave her a look.

"Where would you purchase maternity jeans?" Nuala amended.

For some reason, this made Liz grin. "You've never been to a mall, have you?"


End file.
